


there's a thunderstorm in our living room (and he's beautiful)

by poppiess



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: AND THAT, Arguments, Cabin AU, Cuddles, Cute, Dragon AU, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, Oneshot, Prinxiety - Freeform, Some angst, Swearing, a tiny uncontrolled oven fire, alright that's it, here are the possible triggers in this fic lads here we go, how yall doing this fine day, i forgot that sorry, implied background logicality, in which a small plant sadly perishes, light alcohol consumption, love you!!, pre-romantic prinxiety - Freeform, prim's dumb comfort au, roommate au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 04:38:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16737241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppiess/pseuds/poppiess
Summary: [prequel to 'there's a dragon in our back garden (and i don't know how it got there)']virgil is a thunderstorm, and it's stunning and terrifying and beautiful.(after an argument, virgil is distant and brooding whilst roman tries to make amends with hot chocolate and silence.)





	there's a thunderstorm in our living room (and he's beautiful)

**Author's Note:**

> pairings: pre-romantic prinxiety again sorry sorry i love them (pining roman this time! woooo)  
> warnings: arguments, swearing, a tiny uncontrolled oven fire from which a small plant sadly perishes, some self deprecation, light alcohol consumption  
> words: 2,257  
> notes: set in my cabin au (roman is a writer, virgil is a tailor, they live together in a cabin in the woods miles from civilisation with logicality as their only neighbours) after an argument, virgil is distant and brooding whilst roman tries to make amends with hot chocolate and silence.  
> uhh anything else: the cabin au is uhh really a very comforting thing for me and i write for it when i need to feel warm ig? it’s very peaceful and relaxing to write and i hope it’s nice to read as well. i’ll probably make some art for this too ahh
> 
> alright uhh okay so there is a sequel to this but i don't really know how to do ao3 so i guess just look on my profile for it?? the title is 'there's a dragon in our back garden' and yeah this is just a tiny prequel i wanted to write before i finished part two of that <3

there’s a thunderstorm in the room.

the sky outside is oily, black and empty now the rain has diminished, but the air is bitingly cold. roman sits at the table, with ink-stained palms wrapped around a mug that reads ‘gay idiot’, desperate for some kind of warmth. _come on, roman, it’s fine. you’ve fought before and you’ll fight again. he’ll talk to you soon. he has to talk to you soon._

they bicker, logan said once, like an old married couple. although roman squawked and denied it at the time, he knows it’s sort of true. still, who can blame him for getting frustrated when virgil sits on the counters and knocks things off tables and broods and leaves needles everywhere and never cleans up after he’s been working? yes, roman has his own faults - his short temper being one of them - but they’ve been living together for three years now, and virgil still refuses to co-operate with his quirks! roman is a writer living in a deserted cabin in the woods, for crying out loud! neither of them are exactly peak normal.

of course, they used to be worse. there used to be glowering looks and heated arguments and words that were hot, hot, hot, thrown like daggers across the room. there used to be raised voices and rolled eyes and exasperated sighs. but hey, since they’d planted their garden and virgil started opening up, they’d really been getting better at the whole being roommates thing. heck, roman had even believed he’d come to like the stupid emo who tossed fabric all over the living-room floor and played that dumb ukulele at ungodly hours of the night. 

but this last argument had changed everything. it was as bad as their old ones - worse, even - and only once virgil had stormed off to his attic and slammed the door did roman begin to regret his words. still steaming, he’d grabbed the first mug he saw through his red haze of anger, slammed it onto the counter, filled it with coffee and marched over the table to write in silence. he wouldn’t pursue his roommate, and he wouldn’t apologise - not until the other did, anyway.

now he sits, cross-legged on the backwards-facing chair, pen loose in hand before a sheet of angry ink scribbles, unsure of what to do. 

he feels bad for yelling, and he feels bad for his anger, and he feels bad for his hasty judgement and sharp tongue. he feels bad for his temper. he feels bad that he let the situation escalate until they were both red in the face, on the brink of tears, throats hoarse from yelling, the fire burning out between them until the room went cold. he feels bad for making virgil scream with frustration, then spin on his heel and march upstairs, shutting himself away. he feels bad for letting this happen when they’d been so close to finally becoming friends. 

but what can he do? write a poem and slip it under his door?

he does consider that idea, but decides against it. instead, he makes his way over to the kitchen, still upset and slightly shocked, and does what his hands tell him to do. three spoonfuls of chocolate power into the mugs, a dash of milk, heated and stirred until thick and pasty, a dash more milk, a tiny bit more, heat, stir, milk, cream, done. he takes the beverage, warm and sweet and comforting, and delivers it at virgil’s door with a delicate teaspoon. he doesn’t knock. he doesn’t wait. he leaves his roommate to consider.

he looks up from his writing some time later and almost spills his own drink in shock - virgil is sitting in the living room, gazing into the fire. his back is mostly turned, but roman doesn’t need to see all of his face to know he’s still angry.

there’s a thunderstorm in the room, and he’s beautiful.

the stormclouds are the dark and heavy bags under thick, white-tipped eyelashes that flutter in the slight draught, their ashy influence eating its way through pale, pale skin. his eyes are the rain - limpid, brooding, silent, cold, they brim with all his thoughts, reflection of the thunder. his body is the lightning - sharp, angular, from the high, sophisticated curves of his cheekbones to his defined hips to the muscles in his calves, moon-white, flashing, dangerous. his mind is the thunder. tension spills from his very being, the tips of his fingers quiver with it, his hackles are raised, he’s ready to strike. he watches the fire lick and dance, as if waiting for a signal. he’s accepted roman’s olive branch, but it won’t be enough.

virgil is a thunderstorm, and it’s stunning and terrifying and beautiful.

roman leans on his wrist, inhaling loudly, only realising his mistake when virgil whips around. his heart leaps - and falls back into place as his roommate narrows his eyes, a soft hiss seeping from his mouth, his irises flashing. he flicks his lip upward, revealing pointed teeth in a careful, almost animistic warning: _keep your distance_. he lifts the cup to his chin and turns away again. roman exhales.

he keeps his distance.

the night wears on. rain has begun to fall again, providing a welcomed white noise, but the room is still warm with heat from the hearth. roman has fallen back on the sofa, cradling his laptop, typing up a storm. virgil sits, sullen and motionless, staring into the fire. every so often, roman will glance up from his work just to check on him, and he’s struck by a strange conflicting feeling in his chest because he just can’t work him out. there he sits, exotically beautiful with his one jade eye, his floppy dark hair, his impossibly pale skin, in an outfit roman’s never seen him in before. the oversized yellow hoodie tucked into black-and-white checkered shorts is certainly a lot… lighter than his usual look, but the colour certainly looks good on him. in the soft light of the fire, he should be innocent, calming, but the red glow only accentuates the angles of his face and the intensity of his glare. roman doesn’t want to keep his distance, he wants to talk and touch and see those dark eyebrows raise with a smirk, wants to feel the sleeves of the hoodie and trace the buttons on his shorts, wants one of those deep and meaningful discussions he only ever seems to have with virgil, wants to- wait.

he’s turning around, he’s scowling, his mouth is moving. “what do you want?”

“w-what?” 

“stop staring at me. it’s creeping me out.” he turns around again and roman loses sight of his face completely. 

“we’ve been at this for hours now,” he murmurs, setting the laptop aside and drawing his knees up to his chest. “when do you plan to talk to me, virgil?”

“when hell freezes over,” virgil mutters, voice dripping with contempt. 

roman flinches, hugging his knees tighter. “you have to talk to me some day, virge. we live together, remember?”

“that’s not a problem. i’m very, very good at ignoring people,” virgil says to the fire.

“so you’re just going to… ignore me forever?”

“mhm. now shut up, you’re ruining my plans.” he purses his lips pointedly, returning his full attention to the brickwork on the hearth.

a slow grin spreads over roman’s face. “what if you want some of my excellent hot chocolate? what will you do then?”

virgil scoffs. “i bet i could make it twice as good.”

“impossible! improbable! falsehood!” roman yells, grabbing his chest in mock-hurt. “what if you run out of fabrics and need to order some more?”

“i’ll buy more on my own, dingus. i have a bank account.”

“mmm, worth a shot. well, what if you get lonely?” 

virgil gives a subtle jolt at that and finally twists around, meeting roman’s eyes with his own fantastic ones (one grey, one sea-green, both deep and intelligent. those eyes can probably read his mind). 

shifting himself up a little straighter, roman taps into his bravado with a lopsided smirk. “without the company of the fabulous me, you’ll surely be… depraved of human contact. even for you, that must be hard.”

virgil’s gaze flashes and he looks almost scalded. “how would you know?”

“i was alone for three months before you came.” roman smiles wider, but it feels forced. “it wasn’t exactly… pleasant.”

“i bet you serenaded yourself in the mirror every second of the day.” virgil fiddles with one of his buttons, face conflicted. 

“nonsense! i mean, yes, i did serenade myself in the mirror, but hardly every day! it just got so… tiring.” roman shuts his eyes. “point is, i know how it feels to be alone, and it isn’t fun.”

“i know it too,” murmurs his roommate, shaking his mauve fringe over his eyes. roman’s heart gives an unexpected pang. “alright, you got me, princey. i guess we can keep talking.”

a genuine smile spreads through roman’s body, from his lips to the tips of his fingers to his very heels. “thank god,” he breathes.

“what?”

“i mean- what? no!” he squeaks, flushing deep red. _no, no, stop flushing, stupid face, you’re not helping!_ he clears his throat, lowering his voice a couple of notches, and stares at virgil deadpan. “i just remembered that i, in a fleeting moment of stupidity, foolishly left the oven on. i will now leave, to turn to oven off and put out any oven related fires, as any prince should.” roman slides off the couch and walks straight into the coffee table. 

“oh, princey,” virgil smirks. “you’re so cute.”

roman lets out a strangled wheeze and sinks to the floor, rubbing his ankle. “oven! burning! i’m telling the truth!”

“what? no, i’m not doubting you left the oven on. that plant patton gave you last sunday is literally on fire as we speak. could you seriously not smell the smoke?”

“wh- FUCK!” roman leaps to his feet, sliding on the wooden floor and scampering into the kitchen, where the fire alarm has just begun to chirp. he fumbles for a wet cloth and almost drops it (virgil’s laughter from the other room is giving him compliCATIONS and he’s melting faster than the poor plant pot is at this point) before smothering the fire. he breathes a sigh of relief, cranks open all the windows to let the smoke out (many of them are rusty and practically crumble at the touch) and troops back to the living-room, pulse still drumming.

“great job, babe!” says virgil sarcastically, as roman’s heart does another loop the loop. “anyway, i think that’s enough excitement for one night. disney movie and alcohol?”

the words have barely left his lips when the sky outside gives a violent rumble, and the pain pounding the slate on the roof grows heavier. 

“hercules and red wine sounds absolutely perfect.”

***

as the last strains of ‘i won’t say i’m in love’ fade into nothing, roman falls back into their blankety cocoon, wiping tears from his eyes. he sets his wineglass down on the coffee table and brings his knees up to his stomach.

“roman?”

roman turns. his heart gives another desperate sigh at virgil’s mussed hair and oversized pyjamas. “yes, dear hades?”

“ignoring the insult…”

“hey, that was a compliment! hades is the best character in this movie, aside from megara, of course.”

“oh, really?” virgil leans on his fist, raising his eyebrows. “surely hercules is more your type?”

“he’s great too, but megara is… you know. she’s fiesty and stubborn and… and…” _like you,_ breathes his mind. _just like you, right down to the colour scheme._ with a slight shake of the head, roman forces himself to be casual. “who’s your favourite character?”

“hmm. hades is cool, i guess. uh, i kind of like herc.”

his heart flutters. _don’t read into this, roman, it doesn’t mean anything._ “why is that?”

“well, he’s still an idiot. he never listens to anyone, he’s desperate for glory, and he’s just generally annoying. but… well, he’s sweet, i guess.” virgil strokes the corner of his blanket with a tiny smile. roman is sure his roommate can hear his heart thumping wildly - they can probably hear it in china.

“what were you saying? before all of that?”

“what? oh, yeah. i was just going to say i’m uhh, sorry about earlier and everything,” virgil mumbles. “i was hot-headed and you didn’t deserve all that yelling. also for storming off and not talking to you for like, three hours. i wanted to say something, but i was really angry, and then i guess my anxiety started up… it wasn’t a great combo.”

“it was only three hours. we’ve had worse arguments, falling out boy.”

“that was absolutely terrible.”

“well, megara-en’t-you-rude!”

“whatever you say, hercules.”

letting out a giant yawn, roman falls back into the blankets. virgil scoffs. 

“falling asleep already, mr. all-nighter?”

roman doesn’t respond, because _holy shit, did he just put his hand on my thigh?_

“ugh, you’re the worst.” virgil reaches for the remote and turns down the movie.

“you know you love me,” roman smirks into the pillows, shutting his eyes.

“no i don’t.”

“yes you do.”

“don’t.”

“do.”

virgil doesn’t respond any further, he just huffs and slides a little lower on the cough. roman swears he hears him whisper something, but he’s too exhausted to catch it.

he doesn’t know how he ends up asleep in his roommate’s lap. he just knows it was absolutely not an accident.


End file.
